


Wager

by seeminglyincurablesentimentality (myinnerchildisbored)



Series: Rose Shelby vs. All the Bastards [6]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myinnerchildisbored/pseuds/seeminglyincurablesentimentality
Summary: A very young Rose, a very angry dog and the gold standard of Peaky Pedagogy.





	Wager

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, chronology has gone out the window. Until there's new plot to guide me, anarchy will reign. In this bit, Rose is five, so it's somewhere around where the first season begins, I guess.

Number 14 had a dog chained up out the back that was like something out of a nightmare. The chain was bolted into the ground, it’d have held two horses you’d have thought, but when that beast got going you could see the peg straining to get out of the ground. There wasn’t a gate, just a gap in between two bits of back wall and the chain was just long enough for the dog to get right up to said gap, five inches from the alleyway on the other side. Tops.

Rose’s hand was slippery with sweat on the scavenged bit of pipe she was holding, but she kept walking until she was right there, standing bang in the middle of the gap, just one step away from the wall. The dog was on its feet, snarling, the chain still slack as it waited for Rose to run off. She would have done so gladly, but there was a bet in progress.

“Come on,” she called.

A little ways behind her, sheltered behind an abandoned upside-down wagon with no wheels on it, James and Alice and Billy were crouching, watching her over the wagon’s edge, ready to run if it all went sideways. In James’ cap they had a collection of highly desirable items; most of a bar of chocolate, two enormous marbles, the sort with the fancy swirls in them, and small coil of barbed wire. All of these things would be Rose’s if she managed to whack the beast on the nose with her bit of pipe.

“You fucker,” Rose growled at the dog. “Come and eat me-“

The thing charged at her with something more like a roar than a bark, reeling back when the chain pulled taught with a choking sound.

“Yea,” Rose taunted breathlessly. “Yea, nearly. Come on!”

She planted her bare feet on the wet ground and adjusted her grip on her weapon. Her shoes were behind the cart, Alice would get to keep them if Rose failed to uphold her part of the bet. She’d had to take them off so Alice could see if they fit; because Alice was six already and Rose only five, so they had to make sure, didn’t they…otherwise the bet wouldn’t have been any good. Alice was small though, so the shoes were just right. Rose could tell that Alice wanted to keep them on, but that would’ve been against the rules, too.

The dog was straining, everything pulled forward as far as it would go and all Rose had to do to win was to take another step, maybe even half-a-one, towards it and whack it. No bother.

Rose stepped forward, raised her arm a little and struck.

The dog’s enormous jaw clamped down on the piping and it swung its head sideways with such force Rose stumbled forward. She managed to get her free hand on the edge of the wall, but most of her ended up well within the dog’s reach and before Rose could throw herself backwards onto the alley, its teeth were through her coat sleeve and halfway inside her arm.

She screamed – first in pain and then in terror when she realised it was pulling her into the yard.

James was behind her now, his hands on the back of her coat, his feet rammed into the dirt like you’d do in a tug-of-war. Rose’s own feet were scrabbling for purchase and slipping all over the place. Her arm was going to come off, she knew it would.

There was some shouting behind her and then a length of wood came down on the dog’s back so hard it got knocked flat, legs splaying out under it. It didn’t let go of Rose, so she went down with it, James falling on top of her. The plank whacked the dog again and the once more, hurting it badly enough to let out a howl, and as it did, Rose was wrenched backwards with her arm still attached.

“You’re orright…”

Arms wrapped around her and she was carried across the alley and sat down on the cart. Mister Healy from number 12 was ripping her sleeve open, rolling the shreds up and out of the way and when Rose saw the blood she started screaming again, maybe louder than before.

“Christ…orright…” He was wrapping her arm in his handkerchief or a dishcloth or something, very tightly. “Bloody hell…”

Rose could hear Alice and Helen shouting a little way up the alley and turned to look. They were flying towards her at top speed, Tommy in between them. He left them behind when he spotted her, running so fast all of a sudden it didn’t look as though his feet were even touching the ground.

“What the fuck happened?” His eyes were darting from Rose to Mister Healy to the rapidly reddening bandage on her and back again.

“That bloody thing got its teeth in her,” Mister Healy said, still breathing heavily. “Thought it’d never let go…”

“You orright?”

“No!” Rose wailed.

“Ah…now…”

“It’s bleeding…” Rose sobbed.

“Let me see, eh?”

“I wouldn’t-“ Mister Healy started but Tommy had already unwrapped Rose’s arm, prompting her to burst into hysterical screeching again.

“Holy fuck,” her father shouted over her, before scooping her up and setting off at a run towards number 6.

#

Polly was in, which was lucky, and together her and Tommy held Rose’s arm under the tap, trying to clear away enough blood to be able to see the damage. There didn’t seem to be any bits of arm missing, but it still hurt like a bastard every time Polly came near it. Rose was doing her best to get away, without any success.

“Get me a bottle,” Polly snapped at Finn, who was frozen at the table, watching them in horror.

“Why?” Rose howled, struggling frantically.

“To clean it.”

“It hurts!”

“Hold her still, Thomas.”

“I’m bloody trying.”

When Polly poured the alcohol onto the holes in her arm, Rose thought she would die. She was hitting her father with her free hand, clawing at his arm to get him off, trying to bite him.

“Nearly done,” he growled through gritted teeth.

There were four holes in the top of her arm, she could see them clearly now. Polly pressed a folded washcloth on them.

“Turn her arm over,” she ordered.

Rose did her best to prevent this, but her father was much too strong for her.

“You’re making it worse,” he said almost pleadingly. “Come on, you’re a brave one, aren’t you?”

This gave her enough pause to let him turn her arm over, but when Polly poured again, there was not a chance for any sort of bravery.

“Fuck off!” Rose screamed on the top of her lungs. “Get off! Fuck off! Get-“

“There we go,” Polly put the bottle away, produced a second washcloth and started winding a bandage around the whole thing. “I know it hurts, Rosie, but next door will call the coppers in a minute if you don’t stop your bawling. Come on, sweetheart…”

“All done, see, all done…” Tommy let go of Rose’s arm and she backed away from the sink, tears streaming down her face.

“Youse are horrible…” she sobbed pitifully. Her father was rubbing his face.

“Will you be orright for a minute?” he asked Polly.

“Why?” she asked. “Where are you going?”

“To shoot the fucking dog.”

Polly sighed.

“Fair enough,” she said.

Rose, though still sobbing, could feel a strange tingling somewhere deep inside her. It didn’t feel good at all, not as bad as her arm, but no good nonetheless.

“Don’t,” she sniffed.

“Don’t what, my little love?”

“Don’t shoot it.”

“Some beasts aren’t fit to-“

“I started it,” Rose blurted out.

Both her father and her aunt Polly stared at her.

“What d’you mean?” Polly asked finally.

“I…ah…”

“Rosie?” There was the smallest bit of edge in her aunt’s voice now, a sound Rose was unfortunately very familiar with and which usually didn’t bring the best of tidings with it. “Did you mess with it?”

Rose was cradling her bandaged arm, looking down at her muddy feet, cursing herself for opening her big mouth.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“There’s no maybe about it,” Polly said, the edge sharpening with every word. “Did you or did you not?”

“Yea,” Rose said miserably.

Polly threw her hands up.

“You know that beast’s not right in the head, Rosie,” she said. “How many times have you been told not to go anywhere near it?”

Rose shrugged; it had been at least ten times, possibly closer to a thousand.

“Why would you rile it up?”

“Dunno,” Rose mumbled, refusing to meet her aunt Polly’s eyes.

“Rose.”

“Just don’t shoot it?” She ignored her aunt and looked over at her father pleadingly.

He frowned slightly, then pulled out a chair from under the kitchen table and sat down. He held beckoned her to come closer. Rose took one tentative step towards him, then another.

“D’you know what I think?” Tommy asked.

She shook her head.

“I think a clever girl like yourself knows to stay well away from mad dogs.”

They were nearly the same height, the way he was sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

“And I think, your compassion’s getting the better of you.” He smiled a little. “So now, you’re trying to talk the dog out of trouble. But that’s not going to be of use for anyone.”

He’d been back for ages now, nearly a whole year, and Rose hadn’t seen an awful lot of him, not really. It seemed strange to her that he should be so sure of knowing what she was doing and why.

“What’s compash’n?” she asked.

“It’s when you feel bad for someone else and want to make it better.”

Rose chewed her lip, thinking this over. It was sort of true, she _did_ feel bad now for the dog and she _did_ want to make it better.

“Am I right?” Tommy asked after watching her chew and think for a while.

“Maybe,” she said cautiously.

“Good enough,” he said, clapped his hands, stood and made for the door.

“Where’re you goin’?” Rose asked.

“To shoot the dog.”

“But-“

“What?”

 “I _did_ start it,” Rose said again.

“How?” Her father sounded genuinely curious, if a bit exasperated.

“I…uhm…tried to whack it.”

Tommy looked at her, his head tilted slightly to one side. Slowly he walked back around the table and sat back down.

“You,” he said. “You had a go at…that.”

“Yea,” Rose said very quietly.

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

He just kept looking at her. Rose let her eyes wander around the kitchen, surprised to find her aunt Polly still there, leaning against the cabinets, arms crossed, watching them. Rose’s bare toes wriggled on the cold floor. When she glanced back up at him, her father was still looking at her. Waiting.

“Forabet,” Rose mumbled.

“Eh?”

“Ahm…for…for a bet,” she said more clearly.

“With who?”

“Just someone.”

Tommy’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but then he shrugged.

“That’s fair enough,” he said. “What was just someone wagering?”

“What’s that?”

“What were they giving you for whacking the dog?”

“Their things?” Rose offered.

Her father blinked. Just the once.

“Right. And what about you?”

Rose frowned, unsure what he was asking.

“What were you giving them if you didn’t whack it?”

“My boots.”

Tommy looked down at her bare feet and Rose was sure her aunt Polly was as well, even if she couldn’t see her.

“Did you win?”

“Dunno…honest, I don't,” Rose said.

“That’s orright, call it a draw,” her father said calmly.

Now it was Rose’s turn to look at him, waiting.

“So…” she started tentatively when it was clear he wasn’t giving her anything.

“So, what?”

“Are you shootin’ it?”

“I am.”

“Why?” Rose nearly shouted. “I told you-“

“And I believe you,” Tommy said, not shouting at all. “But it still hurt you and now it’s going to die because of it.”

“But I started it,” she implored.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Please don’t?”

Her father gave a small shake of the head.

“If you didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” he said, “you shouldn’t have started it.”

The door fell shut behind him before Rose could say anything. She stood looking at the back of the door, for ages; she was still looking at it when the shot rang out a few doors down.


End file.
